


The Face Behind the Mask

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Phantom of the Opera references, Reader-Insert, Scars, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	The Face Behind the Mask

They were stumped.

Normally, the famed BAU had a theory from the get go - a jumping point - something to lead them in the right direction, but as they stared at the board, and the pictures of their first three victims, they couldn’t make heads or tails of it. “We have a 24-year-old African-American woman, a 54-year-old white man, and a 33-year-old Latino man found behind a wire fence, a white-picket fence, and a wrought iron fence respectively,” Morgan said, leaning back in his seat and staring intently at the pictures. 

Spencer got up and looked at the board, willing any possible answer or theory to pop up in his mind, but nothing was working. “They’re left covered in a black blanket or tarp and a mask that is blue, white and black.”

“It’s all very meticulously planned,” JJ added. “But the only thing that is extremely consistent is the mask. It’s the same every time.”

In all his years in the field, Rossi was sure he’d seen it all, but he couldn’t figure this out for the life of him. “The fence obviously has something to do with it, but it’s never the same kind of fence, so obviously that isn’t as important as the mask.”

Hotch was sure he’d seen it all too - and then something like this came along that made him question everything. “The victims are all killed quickly with a thin implement to the heart from behind, so none of them ever see it coming, but they’re also kept long enough that people realize they’re missing. And during that time they’re fed well. It’s as if their death is a byproduct. It’s not the goal, something else is the goal.” 

Emily sighed, sitting back in her chair and grimacing at the board. “The only consistent thing we have is the mask.” For a few moments, everyone sat in silence, trying to ponder who this unsub could be and their motives, but still nothing was coming to them. “Okay, considering the only consistent thing we have is the mask, Hotch, do you mind if I call in a friend of mine?”

“Sure,” he said, willing to let anyone in who might be able to give them a heads up. “Who is it?”

“My friend, Y/N Y/L/N,” she said, remembering back to when they first met. “Her mother was an ambassador like mine. Her mother was never around, even less so than mine, and we got to being friends. Unlike me though, she desperately wanted out of anything related to law enforcement or politics, so she went to school for costume design. She works on Broadway now. Since the mask is all we have, she might be able to tell us what it means.”

That actually seemed promising. “Please,” Hotch replied. “If she’s able to give us anything on this mask, it might help.”

—-

After much convincing on Emily’s part, Y/N made her way to DC. Late that night, she made her way into the Bureau with a visitor’s tag and a hesitant smile. “You owe me,” she said, giving her old friend a hug. “You know of my distaste for all things law enforcement and politics related.”

“I do,” Emily said, pulling out a chair for her to sit in. “We really appreciate it. The mask and the manner of death are the only two things that are consistent, but our theory is that the mask is the point. The victim’s deaths are byproducts.”

Sitting down at the table, Y/N gathered the files on each of the three victims in front of her and began to scour for information. “This is a head-scratcher,” she said after about an hour of sitting in silence among the members of the BAU. “Color scheme-wise, I do have a possible theory, but I would need to see the bodies to confirm.”

“Can you let us in on your theory?” Spencer asked. “We’ve just been so at a loss for ideas, it would be nice to know what you were thinking.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, turning the pictures around to face the team. Each one showed a victim donning the mask and covered in a black material of some kind - that wasn’t consistent either. “The mask is blue, white and black in equal parts. Now although there is no mask I can think of that look exactly like this, it could be a representation.”

“Of what?” Emily asked, her eyebrow raised in confusion.

“The Phantom of the Opera,” she said. “One of the most popular stage plays in modern history. Although the white mask has been the most popularized, due to the stage play, a blue version was used in the film in 1943, and the mask was written as black in the novel by Gaston Leroux.”

“So we could be looking for someone who suffers from some kind of physical deformity?” JJ asked.

“Yes. You said that death seems quick, and they’re taken care of beforehand?” she asked, looking toward JJ and scratching the scar on her chin - it was probably psychosomatic because it hadn’t bothered her in years, but it was bothering her now. She nodded. “Then if the victims all have some kind of physical deformity of some kind, one that’s visible outside of someone’s clothes, it’s possible that your unsub believes he’s carrying out mercy killings - allowing the victims an escape from the pain that he endured.”

“Okay, Emily,” Hotch said. “You take Y/N to the morgue to examine the bodies. We know that our first victim suffered burns in a fire as a child, but the other two don’t have anything truly noticeable on their faces. Until then, Garcia, I need you to run our basic profile through the system to see if we can get some kind of a suspect list.”

—-

Nearly an hour and a half later, Emily and Y/N returned from the morgue. “Both of your other victims have scars of some kind. Bradley House, your oldest victim, has burns on his right forearm, and your latest victim, Esteban Morales, has a scar on the side of his face starting underneath his hairline and extending under his chin,” Y/N said as she walked into Garcia’s office. “Can you find out how they got those scars?”

With a few clicks of her keys, she brought up information and the two male victims. “Bradley used to work as a chef. The scars are from a grease fire. And Esteban was in a horrible accident on his bike as a child. He nearly died, but the scar on the side of his face is all he’s got left from it.”

“Okay,” Y/N sighed, looking between Hotch and Emily as she crossed her hands over her chest. “Then my assumption is the best I can offer you. Your unsub suffered ridicule in his past for his looks. He’s isolated now because of it, so if he works at all it’s in a solitary or limited environment. And given that you’re victims were taken care of before they were killed and they were killed quickly, that leads me to believe that he believes he’s doing these victims a favor.”

Hotch made his way across the room and extended his hand in her direction. “Thank you so much for your help, Y/N,” he said. Everyone said their thank you and goodbyes, and she left the building with plans to go out to dinner with Emily later on. After traveling all that way, it seemed a shame not to. 

As she left the building and made her way to her car, she scratched at her scar one more time. It had lessened since she left the BAU, but it was still bugging her. Before she had a chance to step into the car, she felt a pair of hands encircle her - one around her waist and the other around her mouth. The rag over her lips was the last thing she felt before her vision went black.

—-

“Something is wrong,” Emily said, looking down at her phone. Although they now had a list of possible suspects, they couldn’t figure out how to narrow it down, so Hotch told everyone to call it a night. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked as he got his files together to take back to his desk. 

Emily looked at her phone, quickly counting the messages. “I’ve sent Y/N 23 messages since she left not one of which has been returned. It’s not like her.”

Penelope looked around frantically. “Do you want me to ping her?” Quickly, Emily nodded and hoped she was just being paranoid. 

Within seconds, Garcia had found her location, noting that it had been in the same place for hours - and it wasn’t the hotel she was supposed to be staying at. “Where is that location, Garcia?” JJ asked, walking up to her side.

“It’s in the industrial district. A lot of warehouses. Could that be our unsub? Could they have her? The victims all have a visible scar of some kind. Does Y/N have one? Sorry, I’m rambling,” she said.

Emily got distracted for a second, remembering when they were teenagers. “She got into a fist fight on my behalf. She has a small scar on her chin now because of it. If our unsub is devolving, the small scar, along with Y/N’s connect to the play could be enough for our unsub to want to make her a victim.”

“She’s a costume designer, but has she worked on Phantom of the Opera?” Rossi asked. “If she doesn’t have a connection to the actual play than our unsub would have to be devolving quickly.”

“Phantom of the Opera was the first play she worked on when she graduated,” Emily said. “She got an internship in college and they ended up hiring her.”

With a flick of his wrist, Hotch ushered everyone out and towards the cars. “He’s been keeping his victims for a few days before killing them. If this is him, we still have time, but we have to move.”

—-

As Y/N opened her eyes, she was met with a very patched together image of the Phantom’s lair. There were candles everywhere, luscious material was draped around her, but it all looked like it could be taken down in an instant and brought somewhere else. Once her vision returned, she looked around the room, eventually falling on a small figure draped in black. “I assume you slept well,” the light voice said.

They weren’t looking for a man. They were looking for a woman.

Slowly, she turned around to meet Y/N’s gaze. “Yes, I did,” she said softly, trying her best to take in her surroundings. How was she supposed to get out of here? All of the victims had been stabbed from behind; she couldn’t turn her back to this woman. “Where am I?”

“With me,” she said softly. “And your pain will be over soon.” She stepped forward and brought her delicate hand to the side of Y/N’s face, resting on the faded scar that remained from her teenage fight. “You won’t have to suffer like I did.”

She wasn’t suffering; her scar was barely visible anymore. It itched from time to time, but that was it. Something in her gut told her not to protest, so instead, she asked her about herself. “Why did you suffer?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to anger the woman who’d obviously had a severe break from reality. “What happened to you?”

Sadly, the woman craned her head back, and slowly moved the mask up the side of her face - revealing scars much like the Phantom himself. “My mother never wanted me,” she started, turning away from Y/N, leaving her time to scan for a weapon of some kind. “She didn’t care what I did, or where I was. One day, she was ironing, and she was drunk. The iron fell off the board and onto my face, leaving me with these burns.” She stared off into the distance, thinking of what to say next. “As I got older, she told me that I would never find anyone to love because I was hideous. My sisters were gorgeous, and she doted on them, but I got nothing, so I retreated into the only thing I loved - theater. When I stumbled on the Phantom, I saw in him a kindred spirit. It was then that I promised myself no one else would ever suffer like I have.”

“I’m not suffering,” Y/N said softly, not knowing what else to say. “My scar is very small, and I’m proud of it. I got it defending a friend. The other victims weren’t suffering either. They were loved.”

“No one can truly love you when you’re deformed,” she said sadly. Y/N’s heart broke for her, because she could hear the supposed truth in the woman’s words. “But enough about that, I’m sure you’re hungry.” Reaching over, she grabbed a scone and placed it in front of her. 

The more she refused this woman, the more likely she was to kill her now. Y/N needed time to get a message to Emily.

It seemed like hours had gone by. She ate a scone. She drank some water. Y/N even tried to talk with the woman a little bit more, but she rarely took her eyes off her, so she had no way to signal Emily. She could only hope that Emily would realize she’d missed their dinner date and come looking for her.

All of a sudden, the doors behind the curtains flew open, ruffling the silky fabric. As if from nowhere, the still unnamed woman summoned a screwdriver and held it to Y/N’s back, exactly where her heart was. “FBI! Put down your weapon!” Emily screamed. 

Y/N held her hands out, quietly begging the woman to spare her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “They don’t want to hurt you either.”

“Yes they do!” she screamed, the screwdriver now digging harder into her back. “No one understands!”

“I do!” Y/N yelled back. “I know how you feel. You feel like no one will ever love you. No one will notice you. That no one will ever understand what you’ve been trying to do. Save these people from pain, but I understand. I…I want to help you…” Tentatively, Y/N turned her head to face the woman, hoping she couldn’t see through her lie.

But the woman’s desperation for someone who understood overtook everything else. “You do?”

“Yes,” she said, even more confidently. “I do. But I can’t do that if you kill me.” Slowly, a tear fell from the woman’s eye as she lowered the screwdriver and dropped it on the floor. While she was facing Y/N, Hotch ran up behind her and got her hands behind her back.

“No!” she screamed, the tears now coming in waves. “No! Please!” Y/N clutched her hands to her face as she watched the woman get carted away by Morgan and Hotch. All she wanted was a friend. If someone, somewhere had been her friend, maybe she wouldn’t have become this.”

“Y/N!” Emily screamed, enveloping her as she crumbled to the ground. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. Physically, she was okay, but she never imagined she’d meet a real life phantom. “She just needed a friend.”


End file.
